


heart over head | steve rogers

by starkau



Series: a slice of life, avengers edition [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), F/M, Fluff and Angst, HI THIS IS MY THIRD POST, civil war hurts my heart, reader is an avenger again surprise surprise, some fluff but not enough to compensate for the, tired of the rambling in tags yet?, why did this post three times dksfjdkjs sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 08:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15045269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkau/pseuds/starkau
Summary: You lock your gaze with Steve’s, and in that moment he sees a true sadness in your eyes.“We’re the Avengers,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “And we were supposed to be the good guys.”





	heart over head | steve rogers

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I am by no means trying to portray either side as more correct than the other. I think both have their reasons for believing what they believe in and I tried to emphasize that here.

When your eyes open, the first thing you feel is the throbbing fire in your right cheek. You take your head off the wall you were using as a pillow and lift your hand to touch your face. Your fingers come down tinted red.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself. You forgot about that. 

You blow air out through your cheeks, eyes wandering to the hem of your shirt before you lift it up and put it between your teeth. A hard tug and a sharp rip later, you run the cloth over the fresh gash and wind whistles through your teeth from your sharp intake of breath; the white is dyed crimson from blood by the time you toss the used patch over your shoulder. 

You already know that by tomorrow, it’ll be one of the cuts you can’t touch without reliving the initial sting of receiving it all over again, not to mention you can feel the bruise brewing underneath it and spreading like a splotch of ink on a canvas. Metal fists and your face don’t exactly get along.

When you blink, his eyes are there on the backs of your eyelids, strikingly green and sharp like those of a hawk. Haphazard brown hair to his shoulders, skin weathered with dirt and exhaustion, metal arm glinting under the sunlight, all of which added up to the same face that’s been bombarded through newspapers around the world for the last two days. He moved with such agility and ease that he entirely lived up to the expectations you had of him knowing his status as a highly valued assassin, but that meant bad news for you. 

You can’t remember the last time you lost a fight, let alone let it come close, but today it took you, Sam, and Steve to take him down in a struggle that lasted far too long, and you didn’t come out as unscathed as you would’ve liked. He was nothing like you’d ever seen before. 

Your stomach twists with irritation. You don’t experience injury often and you don’t take kindly to it. Barnes’ pretty face won’t walk away with a full set of teeth if you’re given the opportunity to face him again.

Something slid off your body when you woke up, and you turn your attention to it only now as you step onto the ground from your seat on a couple of crates. It’s a jacket that’s unmistakably Steve’s, navy blue and soft to the touch, and you notice the cool metal of his phone in the jacket’s right pocket. You hesitate to wonder how it ended up with you, and the few moments of contemplation are enough for you to remember footsteps coming toward you while you slept, a close whiff of cologne, something warm being pulled over your shoulders ―  _ oh. _

Only the ground sees the tiny smile that tugs at your lips when you connect the dots. You slide the jacket over your thin camisole and start to walk.

The air smells like gasoline, dust, and old mold, and the sound of your footsteps echoes off the walls of the abandoned construction site. How long did you sleep for? It couldn’t have been more than a few hours; the sounds of the city outside haven’t yet died and there’s still light coming in from the setting sun outside.

“Sam?” you call. “Steve?”

Your voice reverberates for a few seconds before it fades into silence. It seems like you’re the only one around. You take your lower lip between your teeth, a nervous tic, and put your hands in the pockets of your jacket, taking a right out of the room.  _ They’re probably just out. Not kidnapped, just out. They’re fine _ . Still, with all the things going on you can’t shake the feeling you’d rather not be alone.

Barnes still lies hunched and passed out where the three of you left him, reduced from one of the world’s best warriors to a shapeless, vaguely human silhouette. Upon giving his face a glance, you immediately feel stupid for being so defensive about the single cut you have. There’s no question who fared worse from the day’s events.

Something starts to vibrate in your back pocket. You fasten your fingers around the hard shape of your phone, flipping it open and glancing at the screen, and the name that blinks back at you both sinks your stomach and sets off a small pang of sadness inside you; you weren’t expecting to hear from him for a while after what had happened.  _ Should I pick up? _ You doubt he’d call if it wasn’t important, but there’s a bigger part of you that doesn’t want to deal with him right now and, most importantly, doesn’t know what you’d say to him if you did.

You wait it out. The rings stop after thirty seconds. Just moments later, the device gives off a single ping.

_ 1 unheard message. _

You exhale, jamming your thumb into the “play” button.

 

_ Hi. Listen.  _

_ I don’t know where you are or who you’re with, but a few updates on what’s happened since Steve’s HYDRA-serving war buddy got away: according to Secretary Ross, Cap and Wilson are now fugitives from the law. We’ve agreed to disagree, and now I’ve got 36 hours to bring him in.  _

_ God, I don’t know how things got so fucked up. But I do know you’ve miraculously kept your name out of the papers and stayed under Ross’s radar, and your name’s signed on the Accords. That puts you on my team. And I need all the help I can get right now. _

_ Steve is wrong, he thinks he’s right, and that makes him dangerous. Despite whatever’s going on between the two of you, I think you know that too.  _

_ I’m at the Joint Counter-Terrorist Center Building. Berlin. Make good decisions, Y/N. I’m counting on you. _

 

You realize that your head’s hurting by the third time you replay the message and snap the phone shut. Your back hits the nearest wall and your eyes close as you lift a hand to your forehead.

It’s hard to pinpoint what exact aspect of this is making you feel as hollow as you do. Maybe it’s the fact that Tony Stark  _ never _ reaches out for anything until the situation is so dire that he has no other choice; maybe it’s the fact that your name is on the Accords but the rest of you is with Steve; maybe it’s knowing how immensely much you care for both men and how all the others seem to have chosen who they agree with already, not even giving it a second thought. Maybe it’s because you can’t pick a side. Maybe it’s because you never want to.

You run a hand through your very mussed hair that hasn’t seen a comb for almost a week now, then digging the bases of your palms into your eyes. Too busy attempting to gather your thoughts, you barely hear the gentle, quiet footsteps that start then stop a few yards away.

_ I played the message on speaker, didn’t I? _

You lift your head but don’t look at him, keeping the blue-eyed brunet in your peripheral and gazing instead at a stray pebble on the floor. Able to feel the warmth of his gaze on the side of your face, you see him lean against a column across the room.

“Where’s Sam?”

“He’s making some phone calls. Getting reinforcements, said he knew a guy.”

“Barnes is still out.”

“Good to know.”

Might as well stop beating around the bush. 

“How much did you hear?”

Steve pauses. “Start to finish.”

You bite your lip, your stomach sinking. “Then you know how I’m feeling.”

Neither of you says a word for a few moments, the atmosphere taking on a somber silence that’s only broken later by your soft sigh. You turn the phone over in your hand a few times and take a deep breath.

“Steve, you’re a  _ fugitive _ ,” you say. “As in, every member of the police force in Germany and the U.S. are on the lookout for you. I had no idea, not until Tony told me that the Secretary of State gave him 36 hours to turn you in.” Steve heaves a sigh at your words, leaning his head against the wall behind him. “I knew they took away our equipment, but I didn’t know they were trying to take  _ you _ away too.”

“With the Accords proposal on the table, they’ve been waiting for the second one of the Avengers toes the line so they can seize the opportunity to prove the Accords are right,” he replies, his voice low. “That opportunity presented itself when I helped the most wanted man in the world escape.”

“If he was the most wanted man in the world, you couldn’t have expected to walk free,” you answer. “Did you?”

“Bucky said he didn’t do it and I believed him. I thought for some time the U.N. might too. I just — ” Steve shakes his head, starting to amble toward you as he talks. “I can’t shake the feeling that there’s much more to what happened to Bucky, Y/N. I remember him from 70 years ago, the greatest man I knew, and it wouldn’t have been an easy feat to drill HYDRA into his head. Something terrible happened to him where he was kept, and it’s about so much more than just getting my friend back. It could be HYDRA’s last attempt at global eradication from beyond the grave, and I don’t care if the government’s on my ass disagreeing with me. It’s too important to ignore.”

Steve’s voice is much closer when he speaks next, having walked across the room and now standing just a few feet away. You hang on to every word he says, pressing your lips into a straight line as you realize he’s not acting on a whim, contrary to popular belief; he has a goal, he’s given it more thought than you knew, and you start to feel more conflicted than you already were.

“And you haven’t told Tony any of this?”

Steve shakes his head. “He wouldn’t believe me, and he doesn’t think Barnes alone is worth all this. You see how far he’s gone. There’s no reasoning with him anymore.”

Your voice softens, eyebrows crease. “But I really think he’d listen, Steve.”

“And the Accords would let him change his mind? He has a deal with the goddamn Secretary of State, he can’t go back on his word — why the hell are you defending him?”

“Because _ we killed people!”  _ You push your back off the wall, your fists clenching at your sides. “And I’m not just talking about our enemies. The only way we managed to save this planet was by accidentally dropping buildings on hundreds of its inhabitants —  _ people _ , with futures and aspirations who deserve to live just as much as we do, and we’ll never even know their names. That's why I signed the Accords.”

Steve presses his lips together until they form a straight line, biceps turning incredibly prominent as he folds his arms.

“I saw it happen with my own eyes,” you say, voice falling and insides twisting at the mere memory. “I looked over my shoulder and saw people being crushed by stone and debris with looks of total shock etched on their faces because they were so confused — ”

You lock your gaze with Steve’s, and in that moment he sees a true sadness in your eyes.

“We’re the Avengers,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “And we were supposed to be the good guys.”

Anyone else could hear a pin drop in the abandoned construction site, but your ears are roaring with your heartbeat as you hope with every fiber of your being that Steve understands a little more now and maybe even changes his mind. You can’t think as he walks towards you until he’s so close you can smell the same cologne on him as the scent on his jacket, until you can see the conflict in his eyes and the crease between his eyebrows. He opens his mouth and you fight the urge to flinch, because you know exactly what he’s about to say.

“Y/N,” he rasps, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, “I have to do this.”

“I know.” You take a deep breath, something stinging at the backs of your eyes. “But I can’t go with you. The earlier I get back to Tony, the less suspicious of me they’ll be, and with me on the inside I can make sure they never get any information on your whereabouts.”

You can tell Steve isn’t surprised, but disappointed nonetheless. You lower your head, unable to look at him any longer — and your heart  _ stops _ when gentle, calloused fingers brush the strands of hair that have fallen into your eyes behind your ear. You’re well aware of what’s about to come and close your eyes.  _ Months _ since you’ve known Steve and only now, when everything’s falling apart, does this happen — you almost think better now than never, but you’re also not sure. The Avengers’ current situation is incredibly volatile, prone to crumble to dust or go up in flames at any given moment.

_ But you might never get another chance. _

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“In exchange,” you start, lifting your hand to hold his wrist, “you need to promise me you’ll come back safely and consider — _just_ _consider_ the Accords. It’ll never be too late. There will always, always be an empty space next to our signatures where yours fits perfectly.”

Steve is so close now that you can see his gaze shifting from your right eye to your left.

“ _ Please _ ,” your lips form the silent word.

He exhales softly, bringing his hand to your jaw and running a thumb over your cheek.

“Alright,” he breathes. “I promise.”

You hold his gaze for a few moments more, counting down the seconds in your head; and then, in a wonderful blur that you can’t remember, he leans in, and you have half a second to brace yourself before his lips are on yours. You sigh, hands running up his chest, one curling around the nape of his neck and the other combing through the soft sheen of his hair; he kisses you softly but urgently and it’s a feeling good enough for you to lose track of time entirely. It might be seconds or minutes later when your back meets the wall behind you, his hands tracing down your sides to rest at the curve of your hips. You can’t think much, but you’re thoroughly convinced every kiss you’ve had before this one has been wrong; this one, man,  _ this one _ is gentle but deep, tentative but desperate, one that takes your breath away but makes you feel more alive than ever all at the same time. Every kiss should feel like this, but you know that’s impossible; only one Steve Rogers exists, after all.

The curious way kisses do, yours ends by a unanimous decision shared between the two of you that has you both coming up for air. Your forehead still rests against his, the two of you breathing in unison with his lashes against your skin. If you had it your way, you’d stay here forever.

“What the hell am I gonna do without you?” he murmurs.

“You’re gonna find them, that’s what,” you answer. You pull back enough to look him in the eyes, combing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna uncover the sick fuckers who destroyed Barnes and destroy them back, and you’re gonna do a hell of a job of it. There’s not a single doubt in my mind.”

The small smile that this brings to Steve’s face mirrors onto you in seconds, and suddenly your bubble is popped by reality when the sound of a harsh creaking metal can be heard echoing through the whole site. Steve’s hands fall from your hips and he steps back, looking into the room where Barnes is — was — sitting unconscious. You lift yourself off the wall and turn around to see the Winter Soldier loll his head over to his left shoulder, his eyes fluttering open slowly.

You slip your hands back in your pockets, your arm brushing Steve’s as you stand side by side. “That’s my cue.”

Barnes looks toward the source of the voice and sits a little straighter, green eyes alert but still dull with exhaustion. He tries to move his arm, to no avail.

“Take the Quinjet,” Steve says suddenly. “Third floor, second room from the right.”

“What?” You exhale. “Are you sure?”

“With where we’re going, we’re gonna need to be as inconspicuous as possible,” Steve replies, his eyes cold as he regards Barnes. “Plus, it’ll look good bringing back a ship. They’ll think you managed to get to it before I did.”

He’s not wrong. You could whip up a big tale about having to fight him for it — but you won’t, because you already have a plan.

Steve holds a key out to you. It feels like a piece of ice against your skin when you take it. In return, you slide his jacket off your shoulders, giving it back to him in a navy blue bundle that you miss already.

“Good luck, Cap,” you say.

“You too, Y/N.”

The words feel a little too much like your version of  _ I love you _ and  _ I love you too, _ and you’re sure that to some extent that’s exactly what it is. You turn around and start to walk, and you don’t let yourself look back until you’re in the pilot’s seat of the Quinjet and turning the key in its ignition. The ship rumbles to life, you engage the reflection panels, and you take the lever in your hand before pausing and staring absently at the array of controls in front of you. It’s already starting to sink in that what just happened might’ve been the last time you ever see Steve again.

No. He always keeps his promises.

You’re so sure of this that, this time, you don’t hesitate in hitting the gas and sending the Quinjet straight through the wall of the construction site’s third floor, soaring upwards in a burst of bricks and dust. Minutes later, you disappear above the clouds, flying at the fastest speed that the Quinjet can go in the direction of Berlin.

 

 

 

 

 

The second you step out of the ship, there are people on you; agents and security guards and armed government workers pointing their guns at you like you won’t be dealing them unbelievable pain if they try to shoot. Obviously, they don’t try to shoot, because they know better, and they know you.

You ignore their shouts, only able to focus on the head of mahogany curls talking to Agent Hill by the building’s entrance. Maria sees you immediately, such shock flitting over her face that Natasha Romanoff stops in the middle of her sentence to turn around; she’s only more surprised than Maria when she sees you.

“Nat, Maria,” you greet. “Where’s Tony?”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrow, her lips parted as she tries to find the words to say. “Y/N — your  _ face _ .”

“It’s nothing.” You dust a hand nonchalantly over the cut on your cheek. “I don’t have time right now to catch up, I’m sorry — I really just need — Tony. Please.”

“Okay,” she says, hesitant. “He should be upstairs, I don’t know where exactly.”

“I do. I just came from there.” Maria beckons you to follow her. “Follow me.”

“You too,” you say to Natasha. Her grey gaze is concerned and calculating as the three of you start to walk. “Come on. Hurry.”

The lobby of the building is high and formidable, a massive rendition of the Joint Counter-Terrorist Organization’s crest blazoned over the wall directly in front of you and the sides of the room leading to massive flights of stairs and sleek, silver elevators. People bustle around talking into phones and earpieces, casting you more wary glances as they recognize that you’re the previously missing Avenger who most likely has information on Steve Rogers’ whereabouts. You decisively tune out the whispers and ghosts of your name and follow Maria into an elevator, watching as she holds down on a button, leaning in close to the wall.

“This is Agent Maria Hill requesting access to the third floor with Natasha Romanoff and Y/N Y/L/N.”

There’s a long pause, and then the speakers crackle to life. “Granted. Approaching third floor now.”

The agent seems to respect that you don’t have much to say, and a comfortable silence ensues as the elevator start to ascend. There’s a soft ding and the doors slide open, revealing a floor much darker than the lobby; there are no windows, and your face turns blue from the glow of computers and lights as you set foot on the navy carpet. Two solemn security guards watch the three of you beadily; Maria takes a right and a left, and then you see the man you need so desperately to talk to, sitting in a dark chair with Edward Greens propped up on the long table in front of him. Your heart instantly speeds up.

Maria stops with a word of farewell. Natasha gives her a quick thanks and the two of you walk the length of the last hallway. You pull on the handle, seeing Tony’s brief look of surprise before leaning on the door until it clicks shut.

“I put a tracker on Steve’s phone,” you say.

For once in his life, Tony seems to struggle with a reply, he has so much he wants to say at once. Natasha quietly pulls up a chair, an expression of confusion on her face.

“But I won’t do a thing about it unless, well, this is what’s about to happen.” You clear your throat. “You’re both going to listen to what I have to say from start to finish without interrupting, and then you’re going to decide if you’ll let Cap do this with or without you. With, I’ll give you his location and you get out of here. Without, I let the clock run out, Tony breaks his promise to Ross, and I’ll let you arrest me. It’ll all be on you.”

Tony’s eyebrows disappear into his hair. He’s been a mentor figure to you for the last year you’ve been an Avenger and this is the first time you’ve ever used this tone with him — but he lets it slide, only because he can see the fire in your eyes.

“Okay,” he mutters, his arms folding over his chest. “Fire away.”

You take a deep breath. “You don’t think Steve has a reason to refuse the Accords. I didn’t either, not until today. Listen, his friend Barnes was a HYDRA assassin, you know that already, but he was framed in Vienna…”

 

 

 

 

You were so close.

You convinced Tony to go to Siberia. He was there as a friend, not a foe; Steve’s eyes lit up more than he’ll admit when he saw the armor of red and gold that stepped into underground dungeons of the Siberian HYDRA base. Things were going to be okay now that Steve was no longer on the run from Tony. Nothing could defeat the two of them once they were on the same team.

Then a video clip was played, Tony connected the dots, and the second Steve saw the look in his eye  he realized it didn’t matter how much you meddled, how much you played the messenger between the two men; the seeds of civil war had been spreading since a fateful night in 1991 when a car containing Howard and Maria Stark was thrown off the road. This was inevitable, and there was nothing you or anyone could do about it.

But there is one thing;  _ one _ little offering you can extend when he returns, one that can’t really give much other than the knowledge that he isn’t alone and never will be, because he has you. And it conveys the message quite well:  _ it _ being you rising from your chair the minute he steps into the room and walking across the floor, faster, faster, until you’re just a few feet away. Without a word, you open your arms, not caring the slightest that these are clean clothes and he’s battered and bleeding, and he crumbles; he brings his arms around you and holds you like it’s the last time he ever will, buries his face in your shoulder like you’re going to dissolve into nothing if he ever lets go, looking every bit like a man who’s lost a friend — and with him a piece of himself that he’ll never get back.


End file.
